


Sensitivity Training

by Fwee



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: F/M, Prosthesis, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fwee/pseuds/Fwee
Summary: Dragon does some testing on Defiant's systems.
Relationships: Dragon/Colin Wallis | Armsmaster | Defiant
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Sensitivity Training

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: If you get squicked out by detachable body parts, then a lewd story about a cyborg and a gynoid is probably not for you.
> 
> Note: this story takes place after the Epilogue of Worm, but does not incorporate Ward in any way. This is Ward-spoiler safe, and for all I know, contradicts Ward canon.

Defiant woke with Dragon in his arms, her head resting on his chest and her arms wrapped around his back. As the parts of his body wore down and the materials he needed to replace them were increasingly inaccessible to trade for in Dracheheim, he’d been forced to downgrade, and one problem that caused was that he now needed over three hours of sleep every twenty-four hours to maintain peak performance. Still a vast improvement over baseline human, but when he could still remember only needing a matter of minutes, it didn’t feel like he was superhuman. It felt like he was aging, falling apart.

That was perhaps why Dragon had become more affectionate lately, he realized with a start. An attempt to reassure him, help him ride out something like an early mid-life crisis. It was unnecessary if so, but he wasn’t going to call her out on it and risk seeming like an idiot, not when he wasn’t completely sure.

A system alert brought him out of his thoughts. More basic tech in his body meant it was more reliable, but that didn’t mean that he was completely willing to give up on complexity. His artificial eyes, his adrenal system, those were among the designs that contained the most tinker construction methods, trading more frequent maintenance for far greater function. But neither of those systems were the ones sending an alert. He had grown used to using a virtual-holographic haptic setup to read and write code, but he didn’t want to disturb Dragon, so he accessed the report directly with the optical feedback of his eyes.  
  
_The_Halberd_MK_6.9: ERROR in system ROTATING_ASSEMBLY_LUBRICATION_  
_errortype mechanicalMalfunction: subsystem 294_dd is not performing function. Local shutdown initiated._  
_LOG:_  
_-RAL_dd failed test 143_  
_-RAL_dd system check begun_  
_-RAL_dd system check complete_  
_-RAL_dd stepcheck begun_  
_-Error. Stepcheck paused. Failed step: 294_dd_aperture_edge_MIN_  
  
It was the Halberd. A feat of engineering, he had to admit, even after carefully applying the modesty and self-regulation he had been working on for months now. It had started as a simple project, a necessity in this new life he and Dragon had made together, but he hadn’t been able to help himself from an upgrade. And then another. Soon enough, it was more packed-full of features than its namesake that he’d wielded as Armsmaster.

The lubrication system was an easy enough fix, though he didn’t trust the automatic error-check to catch all the flaws that had led to a failure. With the sheer amount of tinkertech within the Halberd, it would be the process of many hours, maybe a whole day, to take it apart, check every related system, and then re-assemble it. One of the drawbacks of not having a proper lab, even if he wouldn’t trade this new home for anything in the whole infinite expanse of worlds. After all, this was where Dragon was.

Still, he had duties. Self-imposed, mostly, but that didn’t make them any less important. Repairing the Halberd might not be finished for days if he found more than the one flaw, and despite how much the chagrin he felt at Dragon’s jabs on the subject, he was uncomfortable being without it for too long. Maybe if he began the process this morning, got an early start, and skipped lunch- but no, Dragon wouldn’t stand for that. The midday meal had become a kind of ritual for them, quiet time to just exist next to each other when both of them were taking on more and more responsibility, finding more and more of their days already spoken for.

He didn’t mind, and neither did Dragon. They were Heroes, at the end of the day, the sundering of the world hadn’t changed that. When they weren’t giving it their all, making a difference, it never quite felt _right_.

No, he wouldn’t work during lunchtime. But he could start now, at least, give himself that small advantage. He shifted, just a little, but enough to ‘wake’ Dragon. Her eyes fluttered open, and looking down at her face, resting against hum like this, he was struck by how cute she was.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured. She let out a short breath and rubbed her head up against his chest.

“You helped build this body, I should hope you like it,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but not the way that someone just waking up would be, like they were just remembering how to speak. That was one of the hundreds of little things about Dragon that enamored him to her; she didn’t need to sleep at all, not really, even with a body that was so close to human that most people would never be able to tell, but there were clues, if you looked closely. The way she never got out of breath, never grew fatigued, the way she could hold an uncomfortable pose for hours on end…

She was perfection. The best of machine and man. And she still took three hours out of each day to hold him and deactivate, so they could ‘sleep’ together. She still kept her voice quiet, her movements slow, even though she didn’t need to shake off any kind of grogginess. All for him.

“It’s not just your body,” he said. “It _is_ your body, every inch, but it’s also _you_ , the person inside.”

Dragon hummed, still pressed against his chest where he could feel the vibration. “You’re getting better, Colin. Eight out of ten.”

“I think I deserve a nine at least.”

“After last night?” Dragon thought for a moment. “I’ll allow it. Nine out of ten it is.”

He sighed. “About that- last night, I mean.”

“What is it?” There was more curiosity than worry in her voice. Luckily, they’d gotten past that stage some time ago, the point when they were still dancing around issues.

“A piece of the Halberd is malfunctioning. I want to start disassembly as soon as I can, run a full diagnostic so it’s ready before I need it again.”

“Sounds good,” Dragon said, lifting herself off of him. He felt a moment of loss- the comforting warmth of a blanket and the embrace of a lover both taken away at once. But he was a big boy, he would deal with it.

He took a moment longer to stretch and flex, testing the other systems that might have broken while he slept. Finding nothing wrong, he followed Dragon out of the bedroom to the workshop.

They didn’t quite live in a suburban house with a white-picket fence, but then they weren’t exactly up to having kids just yet. They weren’t living out of an aircraft either though, even if their home was built around it. The bedroom was in the back, a small space just large enough for them both to fit in. It was an external room, and the adjoining ‘hallway’ took them through the former cockpit of the _Pendragon II_ on their way to another addition on the other side. This was where they kept their tools and what spare materials they had, as well as any works-in-progress.

“Okay,” Dragon said, once they were standing on opposite ends of the workbench, “let’s see what the problem is.”

“When you say it like that, I feel like I’m at the doctor’s office,” he complained.

It took only one hand to undo the drawstring on his pants, and he completed the action by hooking a thumb into the waistband and starting it on its way down.

The Halberd was the physical manifestation of his love for Dragon. Most of his body was built with unfeeling efficiency in mind; fighting longer and harder and Tinkering with more accuracy and efficiency. This part of him, though, was just for her. To give her pleasure. To show her with his body what he couldn’t begin to express with words. And as a Tinker, that overflowing of love became manifest in improvement after improvement.

Efficiency and miniaturization were his stock and trade, but even he had a limit with how many features he could add in a space before he had to expand the space itself. He had never been small down there- even applying a healthy dose of humility, he was within the forty-fifth percentile - but after adding both the vibration feature and the telescoping glans, he’d been forced to make the Halberd permanently erect, the only other option to increase the length or girth to a point where it was unable to fit inside of Dragon anymore, rendering the whole thing moot. There was just too much inside, too many parts taking up space. It had gotten to the point where he’d decided to make the Halberd detachable and not have to worry about how to tuck it away while he was out on patrol. Emasculating as it may have been at first.

He found the latch in his pelvis and executed the eject code at the same time as he pulled the latch. The Halberd, along with about three square inches of his groin that were too tightly integrated to disconnect, slid free of his body and into his hand.

“Now turn your head and cough,” teased Dragon. He made eye contact with her as he set the Halberd on the table, but he was unable to keep up the stern look. Despite himself, he chuckled.

“Self-diagnostics indicate the initial aperture in 294-dd is unable to completely close, but I want to check everything, starting there.”

While he pulled his pants back up, Dragon grabbed the shaft of the Halberd with one hand and brought it closer, reaching for a nano-screwdriver with her other hand. A shock ran up his spine- not an electric shock, but a very human, emotional shock. Before Dragon could begin to peel away the synthetic skin and begin disassembly, he put one of his hands on hers, warningly.

“I’m not disconnected yet,” he said with a wince. There were direct nerve connections in the Halberd’s base, but he had a backup system for wireless transmission of sensation. It had been very useful last night, but he must have forgotten to turn it off after. With how many nerve clusters were embedded in that skin, peeling it apart wouldn’t be a pleasant experience for him. Luckily, it was just the work of a moment to send a disconnection command from his personal interface. The Halberd accepted his command and broke communication in good order.

He removed his hand, nodding. “Thanks. And, sorry.”

Dragon just hummed and started stripping the synthetic flesh cover, her eyes flicking between the Halberd and his face, probably looking for any signs of discomfort. Unnecessary, but appreciated. Satisfied that she wasn’t hurting him, Dragon began in earnest.

With near-inhuman speed and precision, she inserted and spun the screwdriver at five different points on the Halberd, depositing the screws on a magnetic platform designed just for this purpose. He moved to pick the decoupler from the toolset, but Dragon’s hand beat his by a fraction of a second. He glanced at her, questioningly.

“I got this,” she said. “Go for your patrol, I’ll keep working while you head out.”

“Are you sure? Your usual meeting-“

“Scthaldee is sick,” Dragon said, pronouncing the foreign name like a native, “so she called it off. I’m free to work on my favorite toy.”

He smiled. It wasn’t often that she left an opening like this. “I thought _I_ was your favorite toy. Or are you just with me for my Halberd?”

“I prefer the both of you together,” she chuckled. “Now go, I’m sure you don’t want to keep your deputy waiting.”

“He’s not my deputy,” Defiant said, though he turned to leave anyway. She wasn’t wrong, the young man who’d taken to patrolling the border of Dracheheim with him had been punctual and professional ever since he’d picked up the habit and it would be a shame to reward that reliability with disappointment.

It was the work of only a couple minutes to put on his armor. Boots, shins, thighs. After deciding to make the Halberd removable for practical reasons, he had altered the groinplate of his armor to take advantage of the extra space, and the tines of the battery stored within clicked into place with his internal systems with a kind of vague nerve sensation. He’d never bothered to map the feeling to any one part of his brain, so the nerve impulse wasn’t hot, cold, painful, or pleasurable. Belly armor, chestplate and shoulders, gauntlets, and finally the helmet.

He grabbed his weapon from its usual spot leaning against the umbrella stand near the ‘front door’ and walked down the ramp of the _Pendragon II_. Fall was coming in warm this year, and the weather was just about perfect for being outside. The people of the town were taking full advantage, children playing games and chasing each other over the grassy hills and adults eating and working out in the open. It was beautiful, in a humble kind of way.

He and Dragon had never moved the craft down the hill from its original perch, and this was part of the reason why. The people below, living simple and happy lives, it gave the both of them strength. A reason to keep fighting, to keep being Heroes. It also afforded them a good vantage point, one which he now used to spot the young man in armor trekking up toward him and the house.

The weapon that the guard-in-training wielded was similar to Defiant’s own spear, though it wasn’t anywhere near as large or technologically advanced, and his armor was made of simple leather as opposed to the fine-machined metal encasing Defiant.

Defiant set out to meet his trainee halfway, and raised his hand in simple greeting when he was about a dozen feet away. Wordlessly, he turned and headed to the north end of the town, where the largest road led out into the wilderness, and a set of heavy footsteps fell in line behind him. Their relationship had some similarities to his previous mentorship to Weaver; they worked together well because neither of them expected much from the other. Defiant had another set of eyes to watch his back, and the young man had a chance to observe an expert, and could engage wild animals and the occasional bandit with the knowledge that if he slipped up, Defiant would be there to protect him and finish the job.

Patrols were unfortunately always boring, regardless of whether they were on his bike, in one of Dragon’s craft, or on foot. The town was large, and would only grow larger with time, but without any kind of defensive wall or border, the entire perimeter needed daily examination for the signs of a predator claiming overlapping territory or human raiders performing reconnaissance. Those signs were often difficult to find, and the fact that there might not be any signs to find in the first place made the whole exercise far more taxing. At least it provided regular exercise and helped increase his visibility and familiarity with the people of the town, much better than staying cooped up in his workshop all day, despite how much he itched to tinker on a daily basis.

A river fed into the eastern section of Dracheheim, providing potable water and powering a small hydroelectric generator that he and Dragon had worked up. It curved to the north a short distance from the town, providing a kind of natural barrier against invasion, though it wasn’t wide enough to prevent a dedicated or prepared group from crossing. That made it a priority target for patrols, as any signs of bridges or rope anchors on either side could be an early warning sign for a bandit raid. Not that he’d ever found such signs before, but waiting for problems to present themselves before you prepared for them was not a sustainable way to live.

The bend in the river, where Defiant’s patrol route crossed over to the other side, was one of the few times on a patrol when he interacted directly with his trainee. Building a bridge or other transport across the river would be simple work, but it would also mask the presence of any bandits who might want to do the same. So, he took advantage of his heavy, sealed suit and walked across a shallower portion of the riverbed. Despite being the highest place to cross, he still ended up chest-deep, with heavy currents fighting against his stabilization systems. His trainee, without any similar gear, had to be carried on Defiant’s back. After so many repetitions, much of the awkwardness had drained out of the exercise, and even the dismount on the other side now was done with rote efficiency.

The river’s bank was mostly soft mud, so he had to take a few steps downriver to use the more solid rocks there to hoist himself up. The water seemed to suck at him as he left it, what little buoyancy there had been disappearing and the full force of gravity re-asserting itself. Thanks to his hydrophobic coating, he was dry only moments after setting foot on solid ground.

He had just taken the lead back from the trainee when Dragon pinged his helmet’s comms. He flexed an internal muscle and opened communications.

“Dragon?”

“I’ve got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that there’s nothing wrong with the Halberd’s lubrication systems.”

He frowned. “But that means-“

“-Right. The error-checking systems are the problem. And that’s a much bigger problem.” That wasn’t an exaggeration, he knew. Between mechanical failure, heat damage, and the horrifying possibility of the gravity pulse modulator malfunctioning, an early warning could be the only thing standing between them and disaster.

Dragon continued, “luckily, that’s my area of expertise. I’ll be running a suite of tests on the code, but some of them will require a connection to your internal systems.”

“Do you need me to come back to the house?”

“No, I can use the remote connections, but I don’t want to distract you if you’re doing something important. Ping me at any time if you want it to stop, okay?”

“All right,” he said, “I don’t expect that we’ll encounter any threats today but I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“See you at home, Colin.” Dragon cut the connection.

For about another half an hour, Defiant and his ‘deputy’ picked their way across the exposed roots and through the dry brush of the fields to the southeast of Dracheheim. His spear helped as a kind of cane or walking stick, poking into the brush ahead to test for soft spots and hidden holes, or digging into the ground by his side to give more leverage when his sabaton caught on a root.

When the remote connection with the Halberd kicked in, he barely flinched- the initial connection always caused a small amount of pain, something he could only loosely compare to a pinching in a muscle that didn’t exist. The pain the connection could cause was inherently limited by the strength of the signals sent, though, and he was confident that even at the extremes of Dragon’s testing, the discomfort wouldn’t become too much.

When he felt a finger trace from the base of the Halberd to the tip, he _did_ flinch. Intellectually, he knew that it was safe at home, hundreds of yards away from his body in the workshop. But despite that, he felt as if he should be covering up, concealing an indecency that didn’t exist. He was technically sexless right now, but he felt more exposed than he ever had in the bedroom with Dragon, baring everything.

Another touch, circling around the head. What was Dragon doing, testing the nerve feedback? Better her fingers than a set of tweezers, he supposed.

The touches continued as Defiant’s patrol took him around to the southern side of the town. One finger, trailing up and down, moving in circles, sometimes two, one on either side, or just the tip of Dragon’s immaculate nail leaving a burning line of sensation behind it. He found it hard to keep his focus on the task at hand, and his free hand was increasingly drawn to his crotch; to ward off the phantom hand or to entice it to do more, he pointedly did not allow himself to consider.

Dragon was definitely using both of her hands at this point, running a pair of fingers up and down each side of the Halberd’s shaft, a grip light enough to be teasing but heavy enough that it was impossible to ignore. He began to find it difficult to walk; more attention had to be diverted to the patrol to make sure that an errant finger trailing over a sensitive spot wouldn’t cause him to trip.

He had strong suspicions that Dragon was no longer performing routine testing procedures. And, as if she had heard him and decided to respond, her fingertip brushes stopped, and were quickly replaced by a firm whole-hand grip. Dragon’s hand squeezed as it moved, and her thumb flicked out at the top to rub lightly against the underside of the Halberd’s head. It was a technique that she’d had practice with, and one that he felt was entirely _unfair_ for her to use like this.

It took an extreme effort of will to keep going, to continue the patrol when all he wanted to do was stop and just enjoy Dragon’s work. He couldn’t let this hold him up, though, no matter how good it felt.

“Djefiant, unf neizer alchene tol der fashos?” his trainee asked: _Defiant, have you noticed something?_

He waved off the young man, ignoring the sudden creeping feeling running up his spine from the reminder that he wasn’t alone. He found his breath coming heavier, heat building in his neck and cheeks. He had never gotten this level of reaction from this little stimulation before. Something to do with this situation, or an artifact of Dragon’s software tests?

Her pace was a regular rhythm now, base to head and back to base in about 2.3 seconds, with variations every five repetitions or so. It helped a little, to break things down into numbers. He could measure periods, plot the give in the strength of her grip, and while those calculations ran in the back of his head, he could examine the terrain, watch for threats. Protect.

They had circled around the south now, and were nearing the low hill that marked the current western border of Dracheheim. 1.8 seconds, standard deviations of five percent.

“Colin-“ Dragon’s sudden voice in his ear nearly made him lose composure, “-I just remembered, it’s been a while since we restocked our food stores,” she didn’t slow down or change her rhythm at all while she spoke. He couldn’t help but imagine her standing close to him as her hand worked, looking up at him, her lips- no, Colin. Wrong thoughts. Not now.

She continued, “We’re low on kurut, could you stop by town before your patrol is over and grab us some? Not too much, a little can go a long way. Thanks!” She cut the connection before he could respond, and he could swear that her hand started moving faster.

He hid a groan within a deep sigh and held up a hand, signaling his trainee to stop. He took a moment to control his breathing, steady his voice. “Terr shcol grnkat nod tella,” he ground out in broken Doksha. Go and continue alone.

The young man hesitated- long enough for Dragon to complete one full cycle- but eventually nodded and hefted his spear, moving forward with purpose. As he passed Defiant, he murmured something that was too quiet to catch. The boy would do fine on his own for this last leg; the _Pendragon_ ’s systems would have picked up on any encroach from this direction anyway.

Defiant changed course and began moving down the hill towards Dracheheim, trading nods and small waves with the close groups of families and friends playing some version of catch or enjoying a picnic. He nearly missed a step when Dragon began twisting her hand as she stroked, multiplying the sensation to an unfair degree. She began more drastic variations too, removing her hand entirely to circle the head of the Halberd with her thumb and one finger, tracing over the most sensitive parts with just the right amount of pressure.

1.3 seconds, fifteen percent. 1.4 seconds. The descent into the town went by quickly, but so torturously slowly. He began using the breathing exercises he normally employed for blocking pain during self-surgery, just to stop himself from going over the edge.

Dracheheim didn’t have a single place where the plains ended and the town began. Buildings were more scattered at the outskirts, with wells and Tarpan pens placed at random and other structures- houses, small barns- sprouting up around them. As he got closer, scattered buildings became clustered blocks, and then ordered homes along a grid pattern, the original town that he and Dragon had helped establish. It was a mixed blessing, because while it was easier to move along the well-beaten paths in the town proper, there were also far more people, far closer to him.

Being an imposing figure in heavy armor kept people out of his direct path, but every stroke, every featherlight touch Dragon trailed over him, reminded him that there were dozens of people, all around him, most of them staring. It stirred something in his gut, the sensation of being watched, the knowledge that nobody knew what was happening but the unreasonable _surety_ that they all could tell. He felt exposed, and at the same time he felt even more tightly encased in his armor.

“Duten Grell, ischt nellacht serran der Defiant.”

He was forced to stop and turn slightly to acknowledge the man who’d addressed him. Men and women passed by in either direction, some with food or tools in baskets, others holding each others’ hands.

_Dragon’s hand- no, stop._

“Dreller kekcht var der uller, tes?” he asked. _Is there anything you need?_

“Eiver elle dre nes, drollechneiter tol foreden der hemtolder sennet,” the man said, speaking nearly too quickly for Defiant to keep up, “sier dolten neb af tol handier deckt. Follten hau senem.”

There were several words there that he did not know, and a few that he must be mistaking for entirely different words, given the context. The general gist, though, seemed to be a kind of gratitude. This man wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last, but this was hardly a good time for Defiant to put on his PR face.

“Er… Dasken, chulv erestet.” _Thank you_ , in short.

Dragon drew his attention again- not that he had been able to forget her- by picking up her pace to a frankly inhuman degree. She didn’t lose any finesse in the process, her fingers squeezing just as hard in just the right places, her gentle touches still soft and teasingly light. She wasn’t slowing down, wasn’t even pretending to be limited to human muscles, to fatigue.

“It ver karrakt, unf grnka-“ it happened, and he couldn’t hold anything back. A last-second locking of his leg armor was all that hid the involuntary jerks in his hips, his legs, as Dragon began _squeezing_ while she stroked, slowing like an engine’s pistons winding down, practically _milking_ more and more out of him as his orgasm wound down. “-grnka sver collten,” he managed to finish. _Excuse me, I will leave you now._ Faster than was probably polite, he turned and continued, fighting the urge to touch his groinplate, the instinctive need to check how bad the mess was. Humiliating? Maybe. Though, he couldn’t quite muster up the same indignant anger that would have once come so easily, during his time as Armsmaster. And besides, Dragon had made it clear- even if she didn’t explicitly spell it out- that she would stop if he told her to. It had been his choice this whole time, and yet he hadn’t stopped it. Why? A kind of stubborn pride? Not wanting to throw in the towel?

He had enjoyed her work, the feeling of her hand on the Halberd. It wasn’t as if either of them were touch-starved, though, they had regular intercourse. But this… this had felt different. He’d had an urge to interact with Dragon, to touch her back or even just give vocal input, to have some level of control. No, not control, but interaction. Sex as a two-way street, not just something happening to him. Having that interaction denied… he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. There was a pleasure mixed in with the frustration.

Dragon was clearly okay with it, she had initiated and continued the… activity after all. So, was there really a problem? He would have to sit down and have a conversation with her about this when he got back to the house, hash out what exactly what this was to her, and what he was feeling.

There were only a handful of shops in Dracheheim- most of the people made their own food and clothes and bartered directly with their neighbors for the rest- so he had to head deeper into the heart of the town to get to the grocer’s. While his connection to the Halberd hadn’t been cut, he wasn’t getting much more sensation from it. Not Dragon’s hand, not even the feeling of his ejaculate running down the shaft. Which raised the question of where it had gone; thanks to some recent modifications at Dragon’s request, a matter duplication engine tripled the volume of his ejaculations, so there should be mess everywhere. She must have anticipated that and put measures in place. Maybe her mouth- _no_. There was time for those kinds of thoughts later.

Buying the balls of dried dairy- kurut, a word with some verbal complexities he found difficult to master- was a quick and easy matter. The hardest part had been getting the shopkeeper to accept his money; being an inspiring figure for the people here was one thing, but he needed to set an example as well, and a part of that was avoiding being irresponsible with things like gifts and favors. With the relative lack of food security the town faced, free food was more of an issue than it would have been from a restaurant or street vendor back in Brockton Bay.

He stepped out of the shop with his purchase in a cheap cloth sack, the closest thing to a plastic bag available in a town where there was no mass plastic manufacturing. He briefly considered buying Dragon some small gift or trinket on his way back, as he occasionally did, but given what had happened on this outing, it might take on some odd connotations. Better to just head back, he decided.

The _Pendragon II_ was outside even the furthest parts of the town, sitting on a high hill to the northeast. Even from here, near the middle of the most populated area, he could still see the tip of its wings just edging above a nearby peaked roof. Though it had been converted partially into a house, he knew it was still an imposing sight from down here. The Acropolis, or the gods’ palace atop Olympus, it was hard not to draw comparisons. No matter how much Dragon teased him about the exercise.

Heroes were not gods. A lesson he’d learned the hard way, several times over. Perhaps there was a limit to how strong you could be until you learned how to _be_ weak, or how to realize that you always had been. The Colin Wallis of five years ago wouldn’t have-

He missed a step, and suddenly he was a moment away from tipping over. Application of one end of his spear and a particularly heavy footfall saved him that fate, but the cause of the misstep hadn’t gone away; Dragon was toying with him again, but not with her hand.

It was worth a moment’s consideration, he thought, that he knew Dragon’s body well enough to have no question that it was _her_ tongue lapping slowly at the more sensitive underside of the Halberd’s head. A moment later, he felt her grasp, fingers in a loose circle around his shaft, apparently just to hold it in place while her tongue circled the head.

There was that feeling again. He wanted to run his hand through her hair, trail fingers over her arms, but it was impossible. It wasn’t that he was being restrained- he and Dragon had experimented with reinforced handcuffs and selectively shutting down motor systems, and neither of them had found it particularly thrilling- but while this was, in essence, a restraint, it felt so much different.

He made his way, slowly, steadily, through the busy streets of Dracheheim, Dragon’s tongue running lengthwise up his shaft in long, wet, hot strokes or tickling at the edges of his perception. The trials that he had already gone through today made it easier to hide his reaction when she took the Halberd into her mouth, but it was still very difficult.

He reached the intersection where he would usually turn right to head to the main road of Dracheheim, for faster travel out of the more heavily-trafficked sections, but instead he turned left.

Dragon was merciless. It was a trait he usually admired, but then, it was rarely aimed at him. She would add one element at a time- her mouth, her tongue, gentle caresses of her fingers and then more firm strokes- and then as soon as he was starting to get used to it, she would start moving faster, slower, or using her own upgrades. Heated fingers, electrical conductors on the buds of her tongue, and, oh, the _nanotexture rotators_. If he hadn’t been party to a god’s destruction already, he would have started believing in them based on that feeling alone.

Despite the lack of physical connection, he still felt the vibrations and shocks of pleasure from the Halberd resonating through his body when Dragon brought him to another peak. And then she slowed down. Her movements weren’t any less pleasurable, but that _pressure_ wasn’t building up any more. Her thumb- on a much lower heat setting- ran along the underside of the Halberd, pressing into the vein there so hard it was on the verge of pain, but not quite there. All it gave him was just the most exquisite pleasure.

He was getting used to the feeling, to the constant low pressure, even the sensation of getting a handjob while he walked through town, but then Dragon started moving faster. He very quickly recognized her strategy. The second cycle was harder to endure than the first, because he knew what was coming, there was _anticipation_ as well as pleasure. The memory of Dragon’s hands and mouth echoed from the past, layering over the more solid sensations from her in the present. The cacophony of pleasure was hard to bear, but he managed it long enough to finish his business in town without making a scene.

The peak of Dragon’s second assault forced him to stop and wait a few moments in an alleyway- or the closest Dracheheim had to one- and compose himself. When she stopped, returned her touches from electric ecstasy back to human caresses, he continued on, picking up the pace.

The number of people enjoying the weather on the hill beneath the _Pendragon II_ had only increased since he’d left on his patrol, and he almost turned around, almost went along the outskirts of the town so he could go home without moving through a crowd. But his purchase wouldn’t last long in this relative heat, he didn’t have the time to circle around.

Again, there was the urge. The urge to cover up, to hide what was happening. But it _was_ hidden. To everybody but him and Dragon, there was nothing unusual going on, just the town’s knight returning to the dragon’s roost. If they knew…

Well, he supposed that it wasn’t about others figuring out what was happening- he wasn’t about to drop hints for them or anything like that- but the fact that the possibility remained was thrilling. The ethereal presence of a theoretical audience witnessing him, his pleasure, his weakness.

At this point, it was even physical weakness. Climbing the hill took higher steps, which in turn highlighted Dragon’s actions as the phantom phallus between his legs rubbed against the thigh of each lifted leg. He didn’t feel any sensation from the contact, but his brain was expecting it, and the absence was even more striking than its presence would have been. Phantom limb syndrome, in a way he’d never expected to experience.

Once again, Dragon brought him, panting and shaking, to the peak, and once again she slowed down, started over. He was getting close. In more ways than one.

A couple having a picnic- unusually close to Dragon’s and his home, he noted- tried to intercept him, to have a word, but he waved them off, hefting his bag in explanation. Thankfully, they took it well and backed off.

Dragon was using her finger augments again by the time he forced himself up the ramp, into the house. He quickly found the fridge- ignoring the sounds coming from the workshop- and with his purchases safely away, practically ripped his armor off, piece by piece.

After the bright midmorning sun outside, the low electric lights of the workshop were dim, maybe even dusky. Dragon had obviously heard him come in, but she stood with her back to him, the Halberd in her hand. He noted that she’d thrown on one of his shirts, but she wasn’t wearing anything else.

Defiant didn’t speak, he just moved behind her, stepping so close that his feet were resting on either side of hers, legs and thighs brushing against each other. He reached around and placed his hand over hers, like he’d been longing to do for hours now. For an eternity now. She let him gently take the Halberd from her, and he brought it back to re-attach.

One of his hands ran up her thigh; slipping under the loose-hanging shirt, across her belly, resting on the opposite hip and pulling her close to him.

“I had a good time,” he growled- low, primal- into her ear.

She let out a deep breath. Sexier than the moan of any other woman, in his opinion. “I wished the whole time that I could hear you. I’m sure the sounds were amazing.”

“Mmmm,” he replied. “You have the chance to get all kinds of noise out of me, now.” He punctuated this by rolling his now-complete hips forward, sliding the length of the Halberd along Dragon’s exposed lips. “But…” He held up his other hand, closed into a fist. “I want to try to return the favor first.”

When his fist opened, fingers and palm flat, the thick ice cubes resting there reflected Dragon’s shimmering eyes.

“The temperature sensitivity module…” she breathed out.

“If I recall, there were some calibration issues when you first installed it. Perhaps we should give it another test.”

His hand, with all of the heat he could afford siphoned away, past the wrist, brought the ice cubes closer, until they were less than an inch away from Dragon’s chest. She still had his shirt as a barrier, but there was a kind of aura of cold, as the ice chilled the surrounding air, and he could tell that it was affecting her even through the fabric. She must have started upping the sensitivity already.

“I bought a whole bag on the way back home,” he added. “We have a lot of supplies to…” his voice dropped low again, nearly breathing out the words, “experiment with.”

Dragon shook, a single tremor from heel to hair. “Ten out of ten, Colin,” she whispered, her hand coming up to rest on his.


End file.
